Barbaresco, in the long view

Among the noble wines of Italy’s Piedmont, royalty is split between Barolo and Barbaresco, the putative king and queen of the Nebbiolo grape (and, depending who you ask, all Italian wine).

If Barolo is in the hand of the individual vintner, the commune of Barbaresco has as a benchmark the Produttori del Barbaresco, a co-op founded in 1958 to bring together 19 of the area’s growers as a way to endure the changing postwar economy. (A previous incarnation had been launched in 1894.) Co-ops were by no means unusual in the decades after World War II, either in France or Italy, but typically they were disorganized countryside efforts, meant to make rustic table wines — or maybe fated to do so.

The Produttori, however, was the exception, becoming over the course of the past half century a benchmark for Barbaresco’s extraordinary wines. Currently run by winemaker Aldo Vacca, like his father Celestino before him, the Produttori not only has access to some of the region’s best sites — Rabaja, Montestefano and so on — but Vacca continues to make the wines in the most traditional ways, fermenting mostly with indigenous yeasts and aging in the large oak botti that have long been the mark of Piedmont’s old guard. (More on the individual vineyard sites here.)

Not only does the Produttori represent Barbaresco’s potential, even in its age-worthy blended bottling (the 1999 is just starting to soften its tannic edges). But its common winemaking across a range of sites provides a consistent snapshot of both vintage and terroir.

So when Mannie Berk, founder of the Sonoma-based importing firm The Rare Wine Co., recently organized a tasting of old Produttori wines dating almost to the co-op’s start, it was a glance at history not to be missed. The San Francisco tasting, held at Sociale, was a follow-up from a January event in New York, though on this coast the timeline was stretched back by an extra decade to 1967, with Aldo Vacca as a guide. For Berk, this gathering was largely a labor of love; he isn’t the Produttori’s importer but had brought in the wines solely for the tasting.

Not only was the age of the lineup rare. So was the chance to consider the Produttori wines both horizontally — the five different bottlings from 1990 — and vertically. We could compare, for instance, the Pora from 1982, 1971 and the all-but-vanished 1967.

Vineyard signatures emerged in a way I had never encountered before. As Vacca put it, “When the wine ages, the terroir wins.” The Montestefano and Montefico kept showing warmer, almost fortified notes — kirsch, walnuts, sherry. The Pora, known for its tannic austerity, brought floral and even herbal notes. The Asili was steely when young, opulent when older, with a mushroomy umami. And the exquisite southwest facing 11 1/2 acres of the Rabaja site, its calcareous soil shot through with sand, was remarkably consistent: its truffly, meaty profile rich and unmistakable all through.

A look back in time through the Produttori prism:

1990: Plenty of evolution in the wines, though their tannic profiles were still very much in evidence. The Montestefano was leading the pack, with a warm kirschy depth and remarkably fine tannins, just hitting its stride. But the Rabaja was filled with those hearty, truffle-inflected tones, if still showing a bit more tannic backbone amid the richness on the palate. The Asili was more steely (though with mushroomy depth) while the Centenario was all darker notes — tar and leather.

1982: Of all the vintages, this was in just the right happy place, its legs stretched and the wines’ structure just evolved enough. The Montefico, for which this was a first vintage from the 8.4 acre parcel, was the standout: almost nutty and showing slightly woodsy notes, almost like the bass tones of an oloroso sherry (rich and vinous, that is, not oxidized) and offset by sweet fruit and a luxurious texture. Its evolution gave it a sweetness on the finish that provided even more depth and suppleness. But the Paje was a classic as well, full of rose and violets and dried herbs, with a lilting vinosity to it that still managed to be fresh and reviving. The Pora was floral and flourishy, with racy bergamot notes, while the Montestefano seemed a bit closed still, sleeker and with a firmer tannic backbone. The Ovello was running behind, with a slightly tinny, sharp edge and not quite integrated.

1979: Wines fully in their prime, even the Montefico, which some (including me) thought might be corked. The standout — the Asili, with gorgeously meaty notes of bullion and mahogany, a surge of umami accented by roasted cherry and an opulent, loamy presence. The Ovello was no slouch either, full of dried porcini, an earthy tension and huge tannic breadth.1971: Clearly moving back into full maturity, even old age. An immensely pleasing pair of wines, if a contentious set. The Rabaja was a lightning rod; either it was gorgeously evolved or oxidized — which, hey, flip a coin. Even more porcini and meat notes on it, with some evident bricking to the color, but also dried white flowers and lovely tangerine skin aromas. Momentous, powerful and velvety are in my notes, hinting where I fell on the scale. The Montestefano held up quite well, too, with more loam and hints of the walnuts and sherry found in the ’82 Montestefano. Still prodigious tannins to it, with the fruit just starting to fade a touch.

1970: On par with the ’71s, and still perfectly on point in their age. The Rabaja had more leather and a dusty kick than the ’71, with a meatiness to the palate. Still, it was beautifully mellow with just a tad of sweetness, like loamy rum-soaked raisins. That stood in counterpoint to the Ovello, beaming in its freshness, with a floral kick upfront amid the tarry scents and a mineral-tinged beauty all through.

1967: The antiques of the bunch, and the first year of vineyard designates. The Pora was a curiosity, slightly herbal with camphor and bergamot, and a remaining austerity. But the Moccagatta was an extraordinary closer, softer and almost sanguine, with kirsch, burnt orange peel and tar. Beautifully constrained but still gutsy — with racy citrus overtones and a leathery bass note. A nearly perfect expression of Barbaresco, full of graceful subtleties and yet with ample take-no-prisoners structure. Barbaresco in a nutshell.